


Apocalypse Street (Linear Order)

by StoryQueen



Series: Apocalypse Street [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-04-01 01:15:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4000405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoryQueen/pseuds/StoryQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the in-timeline-order version of Apocalypse Street. I'm not tagging it, because personally I like the not-in-order version, but I thought I'd put the in-order one on here as well :) If you tell me you like this one better, I'll tag it for you all :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Service Available

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Apocalypse Street](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4000336) by [StoryQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoryQueen/pseuds/StoryQueen). 



 

**Apocalypse Street- #2 Chapter: Service Available**

**Wed, 22nd Jan, 2020**

**The Bunker, Hyde Park, London**

 

It was quiet, to say the least. The silence was ringing in his ears. He shifted his butt where he sat on the concrete floor, the rustle of cotton against the concrete walls echoing throughout the small room. When he looked around, the thick pipes running across the ceiling and the wires going from the wall to the computers and radio transmitter, he expected some sort of buzzing sound or a hum to fill in the silence.

But no.

Harry could hear Ed well before he saw him. He must have been three corridors away when his footsteps travelled into the transmitter room, and Harry sat patiently, turned awkwardly around to stare down the blackened corridor. Ed’s torch came into view, and the footsteps came louder. They were deafening, and Harry winced, wanting to bring his hands up to his ears, but instead thanking God for some sound, since he was almost certain he had gone deaf.

Ed shuffled as he got closer, mumbling a “sorry” as he entered the transmitter room. He closed the door softly behind him, throwing his backpack off his shoulder and onto the thin mattressed, creaky springed bottom bunk and pulled out a can of cola. He raised it up and went to throw it at Harry, but thought against it as he knew the sound of the can hitting the wall rather than falling into Harry’s hands would almost certainly deafen them. Harry smiled as he squatted up and took the can out of his hand.

After taking a sip, Harry whispered to Ed. “Did you fix it?”

Ed shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“We need that radio to work. Who knows who else is alive out there.”

Ed lay back on the bottom bunk. It was Harry’s bunk, but he didn’t care. He closed his eyes, resting his arm over his face, sighing quietly. “I saw a guy up there,” he whispered.

Harry softly chuckled. “Yeah? Why’d you not bring him back?”

Ed smiled grimly. “He died.”

Harry was silent a moment, except for his slow gale of breaths, his heartbeat that sounded like a bass drum through the wall of your neighbours party, and the bang snaps exploding in his can. “Did they get him?”

“No,” Ed sighed, “he stepped on a landmine.”

Harry closed his eyes, chewing his bottom lip in frustration. “I swear to God, the military kill more survivors than those infected bastards.”

“He told me something.” Ed rolled over onto his side, coyly half-smiling at his friend. “He said that they’ve got the radio mast up. They think that people might call each other and group up, make it easier for them to control the survivors. They’re gonna turn it on one hour every day, from 12 to 1.”

“AM?”

“PM.”

Harry glanced at the battery-powered alarm clock that sat silently by the useless radio. 11:53 AM. “Do you think…?”

“Maybe. If your mobile charged?”

Harry reached across to where his backpack lay at the foot of his bunk. He pulled out his phone and turned it on. It took a few minutes to turn on fully, but yes, he had half-battery. Thank God for solar-chargers. “Half.”

“It’s five to, now. Go up and call him.”

Harry looked at Ed a second but then smiled. “Okay.” He scrambled to his feet, hoisting himself up the bunk bed leg, and mumbled an apology under his breath from the noise he was making. He gave Ed another quick smile before opening the door and, with his torch from his belt in his hand, walked into the darkness.

The Bunker was a maze. It was set up like that so that it was easy to outrun intruders and confuse them. Harry was still creating a mental map in his head, but it was harder since the electricity had been cut off. He and Ed were still waiting for the solar panels on the roof to kick in.

His torch illuminated the faint arrow painted on the wall. Ed had painted them there to help Harry when he first moved in, but now over the past two weeks they had faded. He followed the arrow, remembers where he was, and soon his fingers wrapped around the steal ladder that crawled up the wall to the surface. He stretched his jaw around the torch, holding it sideways between his teeth, and started to climb the ladder. It was several storeys high, not a distance Harry wanted to be falling down, but he pushed past the wave of nausea that hit him upon remembering the height and continued climbing.

The metal hatch was easy to unlock since Ed had recently been on the surface, unlike the many times Harry had to open it when it was covered in sap from the maple tree the hatch was under. The sun blinded him momentarily, since he had forgotten it was midday, but fighting past the blindness, he scanned the area. No one. He jumped out, sat next to the tree, turned his torch off and swapped it on his belt for his handgun. There didn’t seem to be anyone around. No survivors, no infected people. He glanced quickly up onto the grass verge behind the tree where the Bunker’s radio mast and solar panels were, the radio mast binded with duct-tape (Ed’s solutions to every problem.) He rolled his eyes but ignored it, climbing up to sit next to the mast and got out his phone.

He could see the military’s radio mast beyond the cityscape. It was quite far away, but no doubt he would be in range. He checked the time on his phone. 12:04. His hands began to shake. What if–?

No. He wasn’t going to ask those questions. He was alright. Nothing had happened to him. He wasn’t going to worry himself about whether or not he was still alive. He hadn’t thought of him since it had happened. He had never wondering, had never stopped to think about it. He wanted to ignore the fact that he had no idea of knowing if he was okay.

Niall was Ireland; maybe Ireland hadn’t been hit yet.

Liam was at the BBC at the time; they probably had a basement to hide in.

Zayn was on a plane from London to New York; surely the plane would have landed somewhere safe.

The other three, he convinced himself, were safe.

He opened his contacts and typed in his name. He pressed dial. It rang for a moment, and Harry breathed a sigh at the sound of the ringing rather than the “Sorry, service unavailable. Please try again” that he had been hearing for the past two weeks. After several rings, it rang off.

He locked his phone. He flopped onto his back, facing the darkening sky, eyes closed. He didn’t think negatively. He thought positively. His phone was ringing: that means that his phone wasn’t destroyed. He hadn’t broken it in a fight. He hadn’t been blown up by a landmine or a bomb. He was safe somewhere. He just had his phone on silen—-

His phone rang. His heart stopped, jumped in his chest, but then his hands were on the answer button and he punched the side of his head with the force of bringing his phone up to his ear. “Louis?”

“Harry,” came Louis’ breathless voice, “you’re okay?”

“Yeah.” Harry sat up, looking around. “Where are you?”

“Wembley.” Louis coughed. “Where’re you?”

Harry frowned. “You alright, Lou?”

“Yeah. Where’re you?”

Harry chewed his lip, ignoring his instinct. He could tell Louis wasn’t okay. “Hyde Park.” He ran his eyes over the horizon, searching for the stadium. “You’re close, aren’t you.”

“Yeah.” Louis coughed again, moving the phone away from his head. “Close,” he gasped, sniffing.

“You okay, Lou? You don’t sound well.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He was silent a moment, as if thinking about whether or not to continue. “You know, all this blood being thrown around.”

It took Harry a moment but then he realised. “Oh.”

“I’ll be fine. Sophia found a pharmacist last week.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “You with Liam?”

“Yeah. Liam and Soph. Few others hear as well, but they’ve kinda ignored me.” Louis gave another cough. “What about you?”

“One of Ed’s geeky comic-book friends built a bunker.”

“In Hype Park?”

“He was a millionaire; don’t question it.”

“You with Ed?”

“Yeah.”

“Anyone else?”

Harry bit his lip. “They’re gone.”

Louis was silent. “Were any of the others with you?”

Harry chuckled. “No, thank God. I haven’t heard from them yet.”

“Hey, how come you’ve–” Louis coughed for a moment, sniffing before continuing, “– how come you’ve been able to call me?”

“Mil’s got a mast up, turned on twelve till one.”

Louis grunted. “How long do you reckon they’ll keep that up for?”

Harry chuckled. “Doubt it’ll last longer than a week before they go and blow the mast up with all the other survivors they’ve killed.” Harry stared at the park in front of him. “Don’t try and come to the park yet; they’ve got half-a-dozen landmines dotted about. Wait until Ed and I have finished the mine-map.”

“Okay.”

There was a silence between the two of them as they both stared to the empty space in front of them. Hearing each other’s voice, knowing each other were safe. They both happily sighed at the same time.

“My group is thinking of moving soon.”

“The Bunker could use some more people,” Harry chuckled.

“I’ll tell them.”

They were silent again. Harry bit his lip. “Wherever you go, wherever you are, I miss you.”

Louis chuckled a smile. “I miss you, too.” In the background, Harry could hear someone shout Louis’ name. “Alright, I’ve gotta go.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll call tomorrow.”

“Same time?”

“Haven’t got much choice, really…”

Louis laughed. “Okay, see ya.”

And then he was gone.


	2. Black Friday

 

##  **Black Friday**

 

 

**Thu, 21st May, 2020**

**Headking Mall, Perkjam, London**

* * *

It was almost midnight when they arrived at the Headkings Mall. Drenched in blood but looking alive, Zayn let them it. “You guys are lucky,” he mumbled under his breath.

Niall looked up to where the broken escalators reached up toward the heavens. Rubble hung over the balconies, wireframes hanging like ivy, shredded dresses that once clothed decapitated window-models ghostly breathing in the draft. It was cold– that was the first thing Niall noticed– but it would do. The message on the radio the day before spoke of the mall, a safe-hold for any remaining survivors in the down-town area. Well, if the mall kept out Black Friday rioters during the early winter, then he was sure it would keep out the infected.

Melissa snorted a chuckle as she watched a rat poke it’s head out from under a blue and black dress that lay crumpled by the escalator. “Cheap trash,” she mumbled, reaching up to flick dried-bloodied hair out of her eyes.

Zayn chuckled behind her. “That’s Britain for ya; just a load rubbish.”

Niall stopped walking, but cautiously stepped on the elevator, expecting it to start moving. He looked up as he walked. “Well, it certainly is now.” A spark crackles from a few floors up, falling like snowflakes, burning into the torn-up shoes and cardigans that lay discarded. “Did the military drop a bomb here?”

“No,” Zayn replied from the back, “we just found it like this. Turn left,” he instructed as Niall got to the first floor.

“How long have you lot been here?” Melissa asked over her shoulder.

Zayn shrugged. “Only a few days. It’s secure, though.” He stood on the landing with the two new arrivals. “Haz thinks it’ll keep another week or so.”

“Haz is here as well?” Niall beamed.

“Barely. Busted his leg, though.”

Niall frowned. This whole thing had gone to shit. But, looking on the bright side, three of the five of his old band were all together again. Not to mention that his fiancée was okay as well.

“Have you got a shower?” Melissa asked, trying to comb her fingers through her dried hair.

Zayn chuckled. “It’s cold.”

“It’ll do.”

“We’ve got food as well.”

Niall smiled, stepping across to wrap his arms around Zayn. “God, Zayn, you’re my hero. Did I ever tell you how much I love you?”

“This wasn’t your reaction when I told you I was leaving the ba–”

Niall pulled away and punched him in the arm. “Fuck you. I’m still not over that!”

“Guys, guys.” Melissa hugged Niall’s arm, pulling him back. “That was five years ago. Get over it.” She turned and tucked her nose into her fiancé neck. He smelt like dirt and death, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care that the familiar taste of blood pressed itself against her chapped lips. “Can we just get to bed, please. I want today to be over.”

Zayn tapped the end of his rifle on the laminate floor. “We’re just over here.” He started walking, the other two following closely behind. It was through the old Matalan department, the L lying on the walkway beneath the title and one of the A’s hanging on by the thin wires just above the door. Inside was like a maze, which at first glance seemed to be a mess of rails and stock carts, but Niall learn that they had been strategically placed to slow down the infected in case of an attack.

There was a sniper behind the tills. He waved to Zayn as they approached, saluting with the back of his hand placed horizontally across his forehead, thumb tucked in. Zayn saluted back in the same fashion; it must have been a group policy. The sniper, a young man in his early 20s, nodded at Niall and Melissa. “They okay?”

“Yeah,” Zayn mumbled, jumping over the tills, “I’ll get them armbands once they’re cleaned up.” It was only when Zayn had mentioned it that Niall had noticed Zayn’s and the sniper’s armbands, white cotton stained blood red with a white circle with a green tick-like shape in the centre. Zayn noticed him staring. “They’re to show we’re clear. If one of us gets infected, we cut the armband off. When you get yours, don’t ever take it off. Okay?”

Niall nodded. Melissa nodded, rubbing her nose into Niall’s leather jacket. They climbed over the tills and followed Zayn down the back hallway and into the concrete stock room, where most of the clothes and footwear still hung on it’s rails, never going to be placed on the shop floor. In the corner, behind a shelf of multi-coloured towels was a group of a dozen soldiers: ordinary people, men, women and a few children, forced into armbands and rifles, a salute to their leader as he entered the room, a dead look of pride in their eyes. They had all seen Hell.

Beyond the saluting arms, a curled up figure turned in it’s sleep, and Niall tilted his head until Harry’s face came into view. He pushed past a saluting lady and ten-year-old boy to crouch at his friend’s side. “Haz? You okay?”

Harry woke up, grumbling something about doughnuts and Miley Cyrus in his dream-like state but then stopped when he stared up at Niall’s blood-painted face. “Ni?”

“Dude? What happened?” Niall glanced down at Harry’s leg, which disappeared under a blanket and then disappeared altogether. “Where’s your leg.”

“Gone.” Harry stated, rubbing his eyes and pushing himself into a sitting position. “Damn army left mines in a corn field.”

Niall closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against Harry’s shoulder. “Man, this is fucked up.”

Harry chuckled. “I know.”

Melissa turned to Zayn. “So, about that shower?”

* * *

**Thu, 21st May, 2020**

Waking up to clean skin pressing into his chest, fresh-smelling hair tickling his nose and a warm blanket wrapping him next to his fiancée. This was something he never thought he’d experience again, and the creak in his neck from the rolled-up towels as a pillow wasn’t even worth the complaint. He wrapped his arm tighter around Melissa’s waist, pressing his nose further into the back of her neck, breathing in the new life which he felt that morning radiating from her.

A sniper-rifle landed by his side. “Wake up, lover-boy.” Niall jumped, turning around to glance up at Zayn. “There’s a hoard down by the west-side barrier. We need you and Michelle–”

“Melissa”

“– need to go down and take care of them.”

Niall raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yes. Consider it an initiation.”

Melissa groaned from behind Niall. “Right now?”

“Yes. Wear your armbands. Look alive out there.” Zayn threw down the handgun his held in his hands and turned to go and eat breakfast with the group.

Niall and Melissa got dressed, were promised breakfast once they got back, and with their weapons in hand then wove through the Matalan Maze and got to the escalators. Looking down, they could already hear them. Niall looked at Melissa. “It’ll be alright.”

“I don’t need you to tell me it’ll be alright.” She threw him a smirk before staring down to the ground floor. The shadows from beyond the barrier were stretching across the rubble on the mall’s hall, twisting and groaning in a dance of agony and mutilation. They both swallowed. “Bet’cha I can kill more.”

Niall smirked at his fiancée. “Oh, you’re going down, missy.”

They raced down the broken escalator, dodging the concrete roof tiles and mannequins that flooded their battleground before halting in the entrance, staring at the lifeless, soulless faces behind the crosswire.

Niall smiled. “Shoot the suckers.”


End file.
